


Words, Words, Words

by potentiality_26



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 04:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15525942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potentiality_26/pseuds/potentiality_26
Summary: Again Tomas wondered if Marcus was distracting him deliberately- but if so, why?  Marcus was already in the lead.  On the one hand, Tomas was relatively sure Marcus had no idea how beautiful he was.  On the other, Tomas had been relatively sure Marcus didn’t know how to play scrabble either.A game of scrabble.





	Words, Words, Words

**Author's Note:**

> I feel that getting into this fandom during S2 as I did, I was cruelly deprived of the opportunity to write comparatively less angsty S1-centric fic. So I did it anyway. Written for the H/C bingo prompt “learning to be loved” though I’m not sure that’s coming through. I waffled a bit about rating because there’s just a little knee touching in this story, but I think you’ll agree that it’s pretty steamy knee touching.

“I don’t think that is real word,” Tomas said.

“Then challenge,” Marcus replied. 

Tomas squinted at him.  When he agreed to let Marcus play he hadn’t thought knowing nearly every word in the bible, the Greek and Hebrew alphabets, and most Latin roots would give him such an advantage- at least, not over Tomas.  It was Olivia who had encouraged him to play scrabble with his nephew, saying it was good vocabulary practice for Luis.  And though Tomas wasn't bad, Luis usually won.  He had a good eye for where the most points were.

Luis was sitting at the other end of the table now, snickering as he watched them go back and forth. 

Tomas himself looked from the board to Marcus and back again, deciding if it was worth challenging when he had already done so once before and lost a much-needed turn for his trouble.

Meanwhile Luis, who adored Marcus already, always took him at his word.  “Priests don’t lie- right, tío?” Luis said. 

In the privacy of Tomas' mind, that stung a little.  But then Marcus corrected him- "Former priest," he said- and just like that Tomas was much more worried about _his_ stings.  

But Marcus didn't seem so troubled when he said it to Luis.  Perhaps it was because Marcus was unusually at ease around children- because he respected them, and just maybe saw what God had seen in him best when he was around them.  Or perhaps he was making peace, slowly but surely, with what he was and was not.

Perhaps it wasn't arrogance for Tomas to hope that he had played some part in it, if he was. 

Either way, Tomas wouldn't pretend to regret introducing them when Olivia brought Luis to spend the day- no matter how far behind he was in score.  Marcus deserved all the affection he could get in his life.

“Why don’t we try pairs next time?” Marcus suggested.  He had his chin resting on his palm and an innocent expression on his face.  Tomas had seen that look enough times to be familiar with it, and with the way the intensity of his regard always kept him from coming across as casually as he clearly intended to.  He held Tomas' gaze.  “We make a good team, don’t we?”

“Yes, we do."  Tomas could only hope he hadn't given that answer too sincerely. 

Luis pulled a face.  “What about me?”

“You'd have a partner too,” Marcus told him.  “And you’d have until the next time you come to figure out who.”

“Like a national scrabble champion,” Luis said.  He looked eager now, eyes gleaming, as if he had just then concluded that the only thing better than watching Marcus win would be beating him.

“You’ve created a monster,” Tomas observed.  “He’ll try it too.”    

Marcus only laughed. 

They were seated close to each other at the table, close enough that their feet and even shins occasionally brushed.  Tomas was very... aware of Marcus physically just then; it was difficult not to be.  He was always there with a hand at the ready- to squeeze Tomas’ shoulder or pat his back or cradle his neck.  And then there was the way he looked at Tomas, the heaviness in his eyes, the fire that never completely faded even in a quiet moment like this one.  Tomas was always glad he had asked Marcus stay, but on days like today he wondered if Marcus would have been able to leave.  And he liked to imagine that he wouldn’t.  He liked to imagine that they would always have ended up here, together. 

As he laughed, Marcus’ hand landed on Tomas’ knee and stayed there.

Tomas shuddered faintly.  He wanted Marcus to tighten his grip and pull him closer.  He wanted to close the distance between them himself, and for the first time get a taste of those lips that were all too often just a breath away. 

This wasn’t the time or place for that.  Maybe there would never be a time or place for it at all.  Tomas didn’t know; he knew only two things.  He knew that he could not have been put in Marcus’ way not to love him, and whatever did or did not come of it that love felt so right.  He knew that as for desire, whenever he had felt it before it had felt like a betrayal.  Of his ambitions, of his vows, of his God.  But with Marcus it felt like a fact of life, as beautiful and unavoidable as the sunrise, to deny it a sacrilege almost certainly worse than to act on it.  

Whether Marcus was aware of any of this or not was another question.  Whether he touched Tomas to warm him, to distract him, to seduce him little by little- or whether he did it unconsciously, because he needed it in the way he clearly needed so many things and did not let himself acknowledge it, did not let himself admit that he was lonely and hungry, for fear that he would get nothing, which he somehow believed he deserved.  That was why Tomas would give him whatever he asked for.  That was why Tomas was not afraid.

He reached down, letting his hand lay over Marcus’ hand.  For a second, Marcus didn’t breathe.  Tomas wrapped his fingers around Marcus’ fingers, let the weight of that hand stay right where it belonged.

Marcus exhaled, slow.

Luis, meanwhile, was oblivious to this byplay.  He drummed his fingers on the table, getting impatient now.

Tomas looked back down at his letters.  Luis was right too; if he wasn’t going to challenge Marcus' play, he was going to have to make one of his own. 

He spent a while simply rearranging his tiles, thinking how he had underestimated Marcus.  He had assumed, when Marcus said he didn’t often sit down to play, that this would be easy, or at least not especially hard. Tomas had the sense that he was being hustled, now- though he couldn’t imagine how.  When had Marcus gotten the time or the practice?  When he uttered his suspicions aloud, Marcus ducked his head, trying and failing to contain a smirk. 

“I may have left out the fact that I do play occasionally,” he said.  “Just... not like this.”

“When?” Tomas asked.  He kept his tone appropriately incredulous, though he found he found he didn’t really care.  He only cared about the warm weight of Marcus’ hand and the slow circles his thumb made against Tomas' kneecap.  Again Tomas wondered if Marcus was distracting him deliberately- but if so, why?  Marcus was already in the lead.  On the one hand, Tomas was relatively sure Marcus had no idea how beautiful he was.  On the other, Tomas had been relatively sure Marcus didn’t know how to play scrabble either.  “And with who?”

“Off and on," Marcus answered.  "With Bennett.”

“You two play long distance scrabble?” Tomas really was incredulous there.

“Essentially,” Marcus answered.  “We go at a rate of a play every couple of days.  On the honor system.”

“I’m surprised he trusts you that far.”

“He might not, if he ever lost.”  Marcus’ tone was rueful.  “ _He’s_ the monster.”

 _Or possibly just immune to your wiles_ , Tomas thought but didn’t say.  If that wasn’t true, he didn’t want to know it.  Everything between Marcus and Father Bennett seemed old, worn like the beads on Tomas’ first rosary.  Every smile, every eye roll, every praise or criticism, had been gone over dozens or even hundreds of times.  It was difficult enough to fit into that narrative without allowing himself to be jealous as well.  And he did come very close to jealousy, sometimes, when he thought of everyone who had known Marcus’ friendship before him.  Everyone who had known his touch. 

He managed to curb it, most days, by reminding himself that such jealousy was doubly wrong.  It was wrong to envy strangers and friends what was given him so freely.  It was wrong to resent in Marcus one of the things he also loved best in him.  That all those years with no one to reach out to had never made him stop trying. 

It was in that moment, when Tomas was all good will and warm feelings, that the tiles before him and on the board seemed to rearrange themselves before his eyes.  He reordered a few, counted places, tried to keep a proverbial poker face as he realized that he could use them all in a single play.  And it was a good play too, with a K on a triple letter score and an S hooking onto another word.  That and the added bonus for using all his letters would get him back into the running quite nicely. 

He put the tiles down and Luis sputtered, but Marcus grinned.  “Good one,” he said, squeezing Tomas' knee lightly.

Tomas ducked his head as he wrote down his score.  The back of his neck felt hot and he wished that Marcus’ hand could be there too, calloused fingers putting pressure against the first nob of his spine and carding through his hair. 

Luis played next, and straightaway.  That explained his impatience; he had already known just what he intended to do.

Tomas congratulated him and wrote down his score before really focusing on the letters he had drawn.  His attention was still mainly on Marcus, though.  He laid his hand atop Marcus' again.  He let it move- not absently, not at all, though Marcus might take it that way- grazing over the hills of scared knuckles and running down the valleys between fingers.

Marcus took his turn, laying his letters out one-handed.

“That’s terrible,” Tomas told him, not sure whether or not that was his fault, or how he felt if it was. 

Marcus only grunted, but his hand turned underneath Tomas' and he threaded their fingers together, holding tight.

Tomas looked at his letters again.  He might win or lose the game- though which of those it would be looked less certain now than it had only a moment ago- because this closeness was what mattered.  Luis’ laughter, and Marcus’ hand in his.  That was the only triumph he really cared about. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come see me on [tumblr](http://potentiality-26.tumblr.com/).


End file.
